even our shadows flinch
by closingdoors
Summary: "She has been at the twelfth only two weeks but already she knows who her partner is." Based on a pre-show Esposito/Beckett theory, their story told in three parts, before Castle and hope and any source of light at all. Co-written with Eleantris. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

**even our shadows flinch**

* * *

We are not in love, but we both fell for the way

even our shadows flinch at the person they're following.

We are not in love.

Not with each other,

not even with ourselves.

-Everything seems beautiful until you take a closer look, Meggie C. Royer

* * *

**Disclaimer:** I'm pretty sure two teenage girls would not be allowed to own Castle. At least, if we are allowed, _nobody _has told me. I also ask you, _please, _if you don't like the idea nor find it plausible, do not read on and leave negative comments. Neither myself nor Eleantris ship Castle/Beckett any less than we ever have, but if you can't explore plausible ideas within the realm of fanfiction, where else can you? Overall, this will be split into 3 chapters. Enjoy.

* * *

He makes her laugh, this six foot something ex-forces detective who wears his badge around his neck like a medal. She likes that he takes it so seriously, that this job is as important to him as it is to her. And it has been oh so long since Kate Beckett laughed. For years now her laughter has been hollow; it has echoed in the empty chambers of her heart and the dark pits of her lungs, smudging shadows beneath her eyes. Javier Esposito teaches her to laugh again. It fills her heart and ignites the tiniest flame in the recesses of her lungs, just for a moment. He gives her hope.

She has been at the twelfth only two weeks but already she knows who her partner is.

"Morning, Kit-Kat." He strides into the break room, mug in hand and comes to stand beside her at the coffee machine. "Now how come you're always here before me?"

Her eyes scowl up at him but there's a quiver at the corner of her lips that he has come to recognise as the threat of a smile. "Maybe _Kit-Kat_," she forces the two syllables out between her teeth with a locked jaw and raised eyebrow, "would like to drink her morning coffee in peace."

Javi isn't fazed. He merely gestures with both hands, broad shoulders opening as he shrugs and grins. "Hey, every newbie's gotta have a nickname! It's the rules. Could be worse. I could just be calling you New Girl." He knocks her shoulder with his own and she knocks him back.

Kate takes her coffee, smile still more in her eyes than her lips as she glances up at him. She steps away, his back to her now. Leaning against the counter, she wraps both hands around her cup as the machine hums into life again. It's meant to be new, but the coffee still tastes terrible.

"So, how's paperwork?" he asks, and she sees his shoulders rise with a silent chuckle.

He turns just in time to see her narrowed eyes and the upward turn of her lips. Her next words slide from her tongue, calculated. "Not too bad, _Mr July_."

She's got him there. His hand stills the spoon that was stirring his coffee and she just quirks an eyebrow. But he recovers; of course he does. "Oh so you've seen the calendar, huh?" Letting go of his spoon he makes a show of flexing the biceps in his right arm, looking admiringly from them to her with a smirk. "I bet you just can't wait for July to roll around."

She laughs, because how can she not? His jokes mean next to nothing, his smirks and muscle flexing always an elaborate act, but there's a spark of laughter in his eyes that evokes it in her, that brings it bubbling forth from she doesn't know where. She knows she is grateful.

"Oh I don't know, Javi. I'm more of a Mr April kinda girl." There's still laughter in her smile as she eyes him over the top of her coffee cup, testing the temperature against her top lip.

"Pfft." He swigs back a mouthful of coffee, chucking the spoon in the sink. "Of course you are, Kit-Kat. Of course you are."

She smiles and for the next few moments they are silent and she half-wishes the job could consist of this and only this. That her days could be spent drinking morning coffee with her partner, oblivious to the messy world beyond the play of artificial light in the shuttered blinds of the break room. But it is only a half-wish. She has unfinished business in that messy world.

* * *

So she'll admit to it, she and Esposito make a pretty good team.

The boys around the table explode into laughter at something Esposito says, the team sparkly-eyed from a tedious and complicated case well solved and perhaps one too many beers. She feels the warmth of the alcohol unfurling through her veins, something deliciously happy that she can't quite pin down and a gentle buzz settling across her mind.

Esposito catches her watching him and she flicks her eyes back down to her bottle, her third beer almost gone now as she's drank away heartily with the rest of the team. It's been the first time that she's been so close to tipsy, perhaps, in a while- But she's finally been accepted among the team after a brilliant take down this morning, and in a male-dominated workforce, she's not going to reject any offers of making friends just because of her father's habit of seeking shadows at the bottom of the bottle. It can't hurt. Not like Royce. Never like Royce.

"Another round?" Esposito offers to the table, but too soon they're moving away, offering excuses, too-friendly smiles aimed towards her as she grimaces against their complaints of their wives badgering them to get home earlier.

Too late, she realises, it's just her and Esposito sitting in the quiet corner of the cop bar, ambience perhaps a little too warm for her liking. He eyes her warily, like she's a caged animal, and she curls her fingers around her coat, preparing her excuses to leave.

"Don't think I don't see you trying to get out of drinking me under the table."

She smirks, fingers unfurling even as her legs ache to carry her away, but the warmth of the alcohol or the bar or his eyes- she doesn't know what- make her will herself to just stay grounded for as long as she can. Just for one night.

"Espo, you're more drunk than me right now," she deadpans.

He snorts. "More excuses."

She rolls her eyes at his ability to crawl under her skin, mess with her like a wind-up toy and send her running. And she knows what he's doing, but she can't care to stop him. It feels nice to smile, to feel the weight in her lungs distribute equally and float for a while, instead of dragging her down, her constant anchor.

"I really should go. It's getting late."

Esposito raises his eyebrows. "More paperwork, Beckett?"

Beckett stills, tugging her lower lip beneath her teeth as she tries to block out the thoughts of endless files, violent images and lost files swirling through her foggy mind. But of course, he can't really know about it, nobody does. Except Montgomery, but that was over a year ago, when she was still an officer sneaking into places she really shouldn't have.

"Someone's gotta do their job around here."

"That's why you're Montgomery's favourite, right?"

"Excuse me?"

"Well, we all know that he fast-tracked you into homicide. Wondered what it was about you that made him so eager. Guess he likes the goodie two shoes."

She feels heat flood her face, and she's not quite sure if it's through embarrassment or through her own stubborn ways. Either way, she hates the tone he uses, the way he diminishes her efforts. It makes her skin crawl, her spine straightening with all the taut tension of a bow.

"I graduated first in my class, Esposito," she tells him sternly, chin raised high.

His eyes widen. "I know. I know, I wasn't saying-"

"I didn't cheat my way into homicide."

He raises his hands, palms faced forwards. "I wasn't- I was just messing with you."

She huffs, tucking an errant strand of short hair behind her ear. "Good."

He watches her as she takes a swig of the last of her beer, something carefully reserved in his eyes. Curiosity ignites in her chest but she quells it, waits him out instead of ruining things like she always does.

"You're a good cop, Kit-Kat," he says softly.

"I know," she says smugly, watching the smirk linger on his lips. "And stop calling me that. I'm not candy."

"I told you, it's that or New Girl." He ribs her gently, eyes glittering with mischief.

A small smile tugs on her lips but she smothers it quickly.

"Fine, Javi. But no using it around the others, okay?"

He grins. That lazy, self-satisfied smile of his that shouldn't make her chest flutter but it does. "As you wish."

* * *

It's January 9th again. No words can ever be found to describe the aching chasm Johanna Beckett's murder left in her daughter's soul. No words could be found at her funeral; no words can be found now. Dusk pervades the cramped living space of Kate's apartment as she cowers in the corner, fearful of where the oncoming night lurks in the shadows. On her knees, she crawls to reach for her Mom's file, tugging it from her bag, abandoned by the door. The photos slip out as she drags the file toward her and suddenly there is not carpet beneath Kate's knees but hard concrete, not paper between her fingers but the rough wool of her father's coat and soaked tissues from silent cops with nothing to say.

The images spill across her apartment floor in front of her and all she can see is the blood – too much blood, clotting crimson stains on her Mom's clothes, in her hair and smeared below unblinking eyes that would never smile again, their corners never again crinkling the way she always loved. She can smell it, pungent and repulsive in her sinuses, can hear the choked sobs of her father and her own strangled cries. She can hear the empty silence of her Mom's corpse, the dull thud of black as they close her eyes once they've lifted her body onto the gurney. She is wheeled away and she never comes home.

As a little girl, Kate Beckett used to trace her mother's face with her fingertips and ask in all her innocence if she would ever grow to be so pretty. As a scared young woman, she examines the minutiae of her post-mortem in the ever vain hope that there is something, _anything_ that may have been missed. Always there is nothing but a sickening contrast in memories between the warmth of her Mom's embrace and the coldness of her skin in that alley.

She tries to focus on the words on the page, the details of her Mom's case, the photos and the witness statements and dead-end after dead-end. But it's too much. There are too many voices and screams and memories all fighting in her head. She is a closed circuit, the same despair circling round and round and she is so tired of fighting this alone, of scrabbling against dead-ends as though trying to tunnel through, of the way the chill wind of the anniversary raises her heart-rate every year, sending her breath scattering and lungs incapable of stealing the air she needs.

With tear-smeared eyes and trembling fingers, Kate fumbles for the phone. She dials the number without checking that it's right, without pausing to wonder what he might be doing or what he might think of her if she does this. All she knows is that she doesn't feel like this when he is there. That he makes her laugh. He believes in her. He thinks she's a good cop –

"Hello?"

The sound of his voice is like ice water, shocking her into stillness. She is silent for a split second that seems to stretch for a lifetime. When she eventually speaks her voice is hoarser than she realised and broken.

"Ja-Javi?"

"Kate?" There is a pause. Distantly, she hears a thud and imagines him setting down a drink or the TV remote. She instantly regrets interrupting his evening. "Kate, is something wrong? Are you okay?"

A sob cracks in her throat and trips out from between her lips before she can bite it back. And then she can't stop. The instant note of alarm in his voice – the worry in his words is more than she can bear. She can't remember the last time someone asked her 'are you okay?' and seemed to actually care about the answer. She has no words. She wants to stop crying but she can't and with every sob she feels like another one of her secrets is escaping down the phone to him, that the longer she cries the more she loses and the more he gains. She hasn't felt this weak in a long time. It terrifies her.

"Kate? Kate, listen. I'm coming round. Okay? I'm coming round."

She opens her mouth to protest, reaches a hand out as though that can stop him from however many blocks away. But there is a click and then silence. She drops the phone with quivering fingers, her heart beating even faster now. And then it is like the weight of an ocean pressing down on her chest, like she's drowning in nothing but air. She can't breathe, can't pull in the air she needs because this is not what she wanted; this is not what she meant to happen. The world spins and it keeps spinning for a long time – too long – and she's desperately fighting for something to freeze and make sense.

When his hurried knock sounds, it seems to take a lifetime for her lungs to haul in enough breath for her to drag herself to her feet and cross the space toward the door.

She opens the door slowly, so ready to spew apologies; she even has her Russian doll smile painted on, if sloppily. But then he is there and she is in his arms and he smells of the night-time and safety and she is breathing in that delicious contradiction, so grateful to him for coming. One arm is wrapped tight around her torso, his other hand in her hair, not stroking but just holding her. She can taste salt on her tongue; she can hear his deep voice in her ear.

"Shh, hey. Hey, what's wrong? Kit-Kat, what's wrong...Kate?"

They end up on her couch, his arms still strong around her, saltwater still staining her cheeks despite her incessant attempts to swipe it away. He marvels at her, words gone now as he takes in the despair in her eyes, the mess of papers across her apartment floor. Esposito doesn't understand, so he just holds her closer, tighter, as though he can put her back together again just by doing that - make her his bold, sarcastic Kit-Kat again.

Kate takes a deep, staggered breath as she draws back from him. "Oh God, Javi, I'm s-so sorry."

He reaches for her again, slides his hands down her arms to her wrists, lingers his fingers there, pulse thrumming beneath her skin, and then takes her hands, holding them tight. "Hey, Kate, no. Look at me. Kate?"

She looks up at him warily. He glances behind them at the scattered photos and police reports across the floor. "What's all that? Is that…is that a murder file?"

Nodding, Kate drops her gaze again as though scared he can unravel her if he looks into her eyes for too long. Her next words are quiet - drops of water in a well in the stillness of silence. "It's my Mom's."

Instinctively, Esposito's hands grip hers tighter. "Your… Kate, your Mom was murdered?"

"Five years ago today."

Her voice breaks and then she is confessing everything. In the next hour Esposito learns why Kate Beckett is always at the precinct so early, why she disappears to the records room on most of her breaks, why she always seems so buried in paperwork and research. Ever since her official placement started she has been ceaselessly re-investigating her Mom's case, searching desperately for a mistake, for a lead that was passed over, for anything that was missed. In the next hour he learns why she zones out sometimes, why she is so gifted when it comes to connecting with the victims' friends and family, why it is that she has this haunted look in her eyes sometimes like there's something not quite whole inside of her.

He sits and he listens and he holds her hands, clutching them tighter as the words spill out into the dusk between them. And then when she is empty, when all the words are gone and the stories exhausted, he pulls her closer again. And somewhere in the middle of it all, in the midst of this horror story and the storm in her past that still follows in her wake, Esposito can't help but think that in all her sadness and her desperate melancholia, there is something so intrinsically strong and beautiful about Kate Beckett that he wonders how he never noticed it before.

* * *

_Crap._

Beckett tugs at her hair, spins on the spot as she growls and then begins pacing again. Up and down and up and down and up and down. God- She doesn't know what to do- Doesn't know how to deal with this. Therapy has taught her to let it go, therapy has taught her that her life is worth more than her mother's death but she doesn't _feel _that. Inside, amidst the arteries clogged with grief and chambers of aching emptiness, she feels a fire flaring bright, her one hope: If she catches her mom's murderer, if she gets justice, then maybe her mother's death won't have all been for nothing.

So why is it so hard to delve in?

Part of her, most of her, is telling her to do it. When she looks down at the hastily-written numbers on a scrap piece of paper, her heart aches to pick it up, call the number and meet this informant. But a part of her- a minute, almost transparent part of her- tells her to hold back. Slow down. Just… Breathe.

She grabs her cell, listens to the aggravating dial tone for what feels like a minute too long until he finally picks up.

"Espo."

"I need your help," she releases in one breath, feeling herself deflate into a sense of security as she does.

"You- Beckett, it's ten at night, the case was closed."

"Just come to the precinct as soon as you can."

"The _precinct? _Beckett, do you ever leave that place?" he questions, and the judgement in his tone sets her a little on edge, has the nerves hooking back into the bottom of her lungs. "What are you doing there?"

"Esposito. Just get here. Now," she orders through a clenched jaw, hanging up before he has the opportunity to reply.

She paces up and down and up and down and up and down in the empty bullpen, pulling her lower lip between her teeth and trying to blot out the images of blood and pale skin and empty, lifeless eyes.

By the time Esposito arrives, she's worn a hole into the precinct floor from all of her pacing. He doesn't question her at first, jogging from the elevator to her desk and taking in her frazzled appearance, the files scattered across her desk and flowing over to the floor, the several empty mugs of coffee that litter the desk next to hers when she had ran out of space. It's then, as she cradles the piece of paper to her chest like it's her lifeline, that he speaks.

"Is this about your mom?" he asks reproachfully.

_It's always about her, _Beckett thinks. But she slowly unfurls her palm, reaches out to show him the paper.

"I have a lead," she croaks.

He nods slowly, shoving his hands into his pockets. He's changed since leaving the precinct- wearing jeans and a sweater for the Yankees, while she wears her crumpled shirt, uncomfortable fitted pants and heels that sometimes make her totter a little too much as she chases after a suspect. But now, as she stands there, and he has to look up at her- it makes it worth it. It makes her feel like she has the tiniest shred of control, if she's ever had any at all.

"And you want my help?"

"I need it, Espo," she confesses. "You're the only one… The only one who knows."

He sighs, glancing over at the manila folders that have created a second carpet.

"You sure you know what you're getting into, Beckett?"

"I don't care." She says it with a confidence she doesn't feel. "Javi, I don't care. She's my _mom. _Are you in this or not?"

Esposito stares at her carefully, studies the defiant sparkle in her eyes, the phantom of confidence which always lingers as her aura even if she doesn't realise it. He knows that there's no convincing her to step away- at least, he knows he never could. And he doesn't want to begin to imagine what it's like to be her, to live in a web of unresolved questions and grief. So he steps forwards, takes the number from her palm, and helps.

"Where'd you get this?"

"A work colleague of my mom's. He told me the guy would have answers. A solid lead."

"You sure 'bout that?"

Kate bristles, spine straightening. "Are you doubting me, Espo?"

"No, of course not. But you know what it's like- You can't trust everything you're given," he points out.

She shrugs, taking the paper from him as she slides her phone from her pocket, a desperation in her eyes that he wishes he could reverse, wishes he had never seen in the first place. Her strength is admirable, but no one person should ever have to go through this. Not anyone. Not Beckett.

"I just need you to be my backup. Wait in the car in case…" She doesn't finish, lets the sentence linger open-ended between them.

Nobody could ever say no to those eyes, to their desperation, to their lack of hope. So he gives in, taps his gun in its holster. "I'll be there."

Her smile falls apart on her face then, fracturing into glass shards that makes her bleed in desperation, relief and hope. It's the most beautiful tragedy he's ever seen, and his heart aches for it, for her, for all of which he doesn't understand and most likely never will. But at least he can help her with this, help her gain answers. At least there's that.

They take her cruiser to the arranged meet up. A shady part of Manhattan with too many broken street lamps for a good view. She pulls the car to a stop and squints, and ten yards ahead of them he can see the vague silhouette of their informant, a man with a cigarette cradled between his lips. The hair on the back of his neck raises instantly, but she places a hand on his arm, a silent plea in her eyes.

"Let me do this. Please, Javi." She murmurs in the dark safety of the car, and something about her keeps making him give in, makes him relax into the seat and nod at her slowly before she leaves.

The exchange doesn't last more than three minutes, their breath curling like smoke between them in the February air. He watches the confident posture of Beckett slowly diminish, the way she becomes a taut bow before finally she slumps, taking two steps back and spitting words as though they're the only thing she has. And then the informant walks away and she is stalking back to the car furiously, slamming the car door behind her when she climbs back in.

"Nothing?" he asks bluntly, because he knows she needs that, doesn't need someone to cover her in cotton wool and tell her _better luck next time._

Beckett grits her teeth, knuckles turning white around the steering wheel as she tilts her head back against the headrest, pale arc of her throat exposed and vulnerable, eyes shut and distant from him.

"Beckett?"

"Nothing," she whispers. "God, it's always- always the _same!_" she cries, slamming her hand into the steering wheel in a fit of fury, shoulder-length curls tossing around her face.

"Woah, woah," he says, grabbing her pale fists when she attempts to hit it again, knuckles already swelling. "Beckett, calm down-"

"Calm _down?_" she repeats incredulously, shoving his hands away. "You have _no _idea what it's like, Esposito. You have _no_ idea. So don't you _dare _tell me to calm down."

"I know. I know I don't. But, Kit-Kat-"

"Don't," she hisses sharply. "Javi, don't."

He gives up with a sigh, and they don't speak again when she turns the engine on, or when she pulls away, or when she drives through the dull lights of the city and back to the front of his cramped apartment. He glances at her when she stops, but she's looking away, and even in the reflection of the glass she's only half-there, the rest of her lost in the darkness.

So he climbs out, watching with regret settling low in his stomach when she drives away without looking back, until the night swallows her whole.

* * *

Nothing. She can feel it in her hands and in her chest. Isn't that all she has ever had when it comes to her Mom's case? Between the typed up lines and the cold images and the stapled pages there is an aching emptiness that she can't fill. There are details and answers missing and she feels like she will never find them. It kicks her in the gut, has her sending the file flying across the room with a cry that does nothing to relieve her frustration. It hits the wall with an unsatisfactory thud, papers fluttering to the floor. She'll pick them up later. Right now she needs a drink and her bed and she wishes –

She wishes that she wasn't alone.

It wasn't Esposito's fault. She feels her throat burn and clog up with the same guilt she felt as a little girl whenever she knew she had done something wrong. Her fingers hover in the general direction of the phone; the one true friendship she has and she has let the shadows and the storm mar it. She doesn't want that. But before she can pick up the phone, there is a knock at the door, strong and simple.

Frowning, she crosses her living space, hand resting on her gun, just in case. A million scenarios fly through her mind in that split second – what if the informant was just luring her out, what if she had let something slip, what if they had come for her and –

She opens the door to find Esposito standing on the other side. There is something fierce and stubborn in his eyes, a look she identifies as the one he wears when dealing with difficult suspects.

"You were right," he says bluntly, before she can even form words. "I have no idea what it's like, Kate. I don't know what it's like to lose a parent like that, to be left with so many dead ends and unanswered questions. But I do know what it's like to lose someone important, to hold their cold hand in yours and know they're never coming back – " He takes a breath and there is something desperate now in his eyes, something that strikes a chord on her heartstrings and he doesn't know it but his words are playing a symphony on them.

He sighs, defeated. The fight in his previous words is not in his next ones.

"Just…just let me help you with this, Kit-Kat. Talk to me."

Kate takes a deep breath – she hovers at the top of her lungs, on the verge of something. She could jump, force out all of her anger, pour her frustration out onto him, rant and throw words around as though they will somehow relieve everything that is churning and has been churning for too long inside her head. But she doesn't. Instead she climbs down from top of her lungs slowly, releasing the breath and swallowing the rage.

"Okay," she says quietly, standing back to let him in. "Okay."

They talk. She tells him how the dead ends feel like endless lost shoelaces in her hands, always slipping between her fingers, never finding their pairs or their resolutions. She tells him how it feels like there is an abyss inside of her, gaping black and wide, and sometimes the edges bleed cold fury and red injustice. She tells him how her world crumbled into jigsaw pieces that day five years ago and how she still hasn't the courage to move the four corners of her world back into place, let alone complete the edges and align the mess of pieces in the middle. She tells him that it hurts, that it burns. That beneath her grief is a stronger mass of emotion that she fears will never go away unless she solves the case. She tells him that she is scared, that at night she feels some shade of herself flinching at what she has become, at what she hasn't become, at what she may and may not ever become. She tells him that she misses her Mom more than words can say.

Esposito takes all of her words and hides them beneath his skin. He sits and he listens as she dissects herself in front of him and hands him every smeared and bloody piece of her shadow for safekeeping. He gives her some of his in return.

He tells her of the terror he felt creeping behind him every step he took in Iraq. He tells her that sometimes, even now, he feels tendrils of that terror clinging to his back and of how he is still learning to shake them off. He tells her that he will never forget the first time someone died right before his eyes - a weeping corpse of khaki, a cast-off of violence. Another casualty. Another number. He tells her that before the twelfth, he worked at another precinct. He tells her that he lost his partner there, that he doesn't want to talk about it. But he knows what it is to lose someone who can never be replaced. He cannot share her sense of injustice, her rage and her pain at all the things she fears she will never know. But he can share her grief, her sadness and her loss. He can help her with that.

They talk until silence finally envelops them on the couch, drifting into empty glasses and a half empty bottle of wine. Kate looks up at him in the semi-darkness, studying for a moment the blank canvas of his profile. He gives nothing away – she would know nothing of the burdens he carries if it were not for his words. She wonders if her face is the same, if she has perfected her mask to his extent. She hopes she will someday learn to.

"…Javi?"

His gaze meets hers and his lips just release a murmur to let her know he's listening.

"Thank you," she says softly, blinking. A tear slips from the end of her lashes as she lets out a shaky laugh. "I guess I'm not the only messed up one here then, huh?"

He laughs too, a little easier than her. "We're not messed up, Kit-Kat, we're – "

He doesn't get to finish his sentence. In the space of a split second he feels Kate's lips on his, pressing tentatively, chastely. He only realises that he wants to kiss her back once she has pulled away.

Her fingers fly to her lips, eyes still glazed with tears widening. "_Shit_, Javi, I'm sorry, I – " It all comes out as a rush, fumbling vowels and terrified panic because no that is not what she meant to happen, that is not what she meant to happen at all.

But this time it is her that doesn't get to finish her sentence. His lips press more insistently to hers and his kiss is a decision and a promise and a ray of light thrown into the dark. She feels his fingers sink into her hair, cradling her, lips caressing. She moans against his mouth and moves closer; there is fire spreading through her veins and it has been so long since anyone touched her like this. She doesn't want to think about the last time.

The kiss grows fiercer still, fire flaring and crackling in the darkness at the pits of their lungs. Somewhere in amongst it all Kate feels his hands on the buttons of her shirt, feels him push the creased material from her shoulders, expose her skin to the cool air and his heated fingertips. She fumbles with his belt and then clutches his sweater in her fists. Pulling them both to their feet, kisses hot and gasping, she manoeuvres them back toward her bedroom and they fall together, clinging to each other like ships to their anchors in a storm.

She is arched into him, moans warm on his tongue as her hands search everywhere they can reach, pulling his sweater over his head, fumbling for his belt again. It is a tumble of passion and desperation and a frenzied grapple for hope in the blackness, but for once Kate doesn't have to think. For once neither of them do, and for once the abyss inside herself closes just a little, a glimmer of light just threatening at the very bottom.

* * *

**TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

**even our shadows flinch**

It's not a case of not knowing where she is or who she's with when she wakes up. The sunlight filtering through her thin curtains wakes her as it always does, and as usual she shoves a hand in front of her eyes before she rolls over. She had felt the solid weight beside her in the bed, the dip of the mattress, and she knows exactly when and how she got here when she finally rolls over and sees the solid form of Javier Esposito covered in nothing but her sheets.

He looks different when he sleeps- Softer, somehow, a little more honest and a little less tough man. His shoulders are devoid of any of that tension she had felt beneath her curious fingertips last night, and his mouth is open slightly, a soft snore escaping his lips. She stifles a laugh and reaches out, cupping his jaw so that she can gently close his mouth, feeling him stir beneath her touch.

When he opens his eyes, it's awkward and soft and somehow, okay. This will be okay.

"Uh, hi." He croaks, propping himself up on one elbow and looking down at her.

She's beautiful. That's never escaped his notice before, a blind man could see the beauty escaping from her even as she tries to hide it beneath stuffy suits and a cold personality. But this is different, he's in her _bed. _Normally, he'd be running for the hills. Commitment isn't his thing, but he doesn't think it's hers either, and something about her is different. And maybe he's sticking around because he wants to know how the story ends, with her mother and the dark tangled roots around her heart caused by grief, and maybe he identifies with her a little too much to be healthy; to look at another person's sadness and make it into something beautiful because of his own is probably wrong somewhere along the line but he- he _likes_ Kate. And he's in her bed and she's smiling softly at him after a night he doesn't think he'll ever be likely to forget and…

And so he doesn't run.

"Hi." She replies softly, blushing a little.

He reaches out and tucks an errant strand of hair behind her ear just because he can't resist. She squirms beneath his touch and he finds himself pausing, assessing her.

"Is this- Uh-"

Kate bites her lip nervously, reaching out to take the hand hovering between them with her own, squeezing softly. He loses a little of the lost look that had been seeping slowly through his mask since he'd woken.

"I'm not… I don't just fall into bed with people, Javi." She tells him, needing to get this conversation out of the way before anything else. "I used to be that kind of girl- after my mom- but not anymore. Not with you."

He nods slowly, fingers flexing in her grip. "Okay."

"And I'm not… In a good place right now," she says, averting her eyes to the ceiling. "I don't know if I ever will be."

"I'm not looking for a relationship, Kate." He says before she can get the rest of the words caught in her lungs out.

It stings a little, deep somewhere in her heart, but she finds herself looking back at him and nodding anyway. This is what she wants, right? Something- Someone, but not a relationship. She can't do relationships, not now. Maybe someday, if she can allow herself such menial hope, but not now.

She tugs him closer by his hand until their bodies are pressed together, his solid warmth comforting somehow as she cradles his hand above her heart.

"Me neither. But I like you, Javi. You're my friend and I like you, but I'm not… Does that make sense?"

He nods, silent as her mind ticks over her next words.

"I need you to tell me if this changes anything, if this means we can't be friends anymore, or work together. A lot of people leave me, Javi, and I don't want you to be one of them. Some people leave me without meaning to and some… some just leave. So, if you are gonna leave, I'd rather you tell me now and save me weeks of suspense until you request to be partnered to someone new or transfer to another precinct." She tells him quietly, part of her lost teenage girl personality creeping into her voice as she speaks.

Esposito smiles at her, not self-satisfying and smug but something tender, honest.

"Not gonna leave you, Kit-Kat."

She smiles at him tenderly, voice a little hoarse as she speaks. "Promise?"

He hooks his little finger with hers, a flare of hope sparking alight in his heart when he sees the amusement sparkling in her eyes at his actions. At least she hasn't stopped laughing at his jokes.

"Promise."

She lets out a breath she hadn't realised that she was holding. Panic dulls in her heart, replaced with a sense of security.

"I like you too, Kit-Kat." He finds himself saying, watching the rose colour flare in her cheeks at what feel like childish words. "I know neither of us are ready for anything like that, but I like you. And I- I mean I'd like it if-"

Kate draws his hand to her lips, pressing soft kisses against his knuckles. It brings him to a stop, especially when she grins at him behind his fingers, nipping down on the pad of his index finger sharply enough for it to draw a hiss from him.

"We don't have to label anything, right?" She asks quietly, but he doesn't quite think he can think of words when she's grabbing his shoulder, slowly pushing him back down into the mattress so she can rise above him.

"Uh- Right." He says, dumfounded.

Kate hesitates briefly, but then her eyes slide close and her lips move his a little shyly, a little awkward. But then his hands rest on the small of her back and he can't help thinking that despite the baggage they both carry like solidary martyrs, there could be something right in this after all.

* * *

There's a part of this that feels too cosy. Too intimate and too normal and too much like the relationship they both swore this most definitely isn't. It's just coffee at the place round the corner from the twelfth, but Kate can feel Esposito's ankle resting solidly next to hers beneath the table; she can't help smiling when he smiles and she knows that everybody else around them must think they're a couple. They look like a couple.

But, they kind of are, aren't they? She wonders if you can be a 'couple' without being in a relationship. She doesn't know. There are too many blurred lines and empty spaces and smudged words to make sense of it, but a larger part of her doesn't care. She tells herself the same thing she told herself when they woke up together on that very first morning. Javier Esposito makes her laugh. He makes her smile and he makes her feel safe. She likes him. He likes her. And for now she can allow it to be that simple.

Kate looks up from her coffee to find him peering curiously at her bag where it rests half under the table, half poking out. She's about to ask what he's looking at when his gaze flicks up to hers and he smiles a smile that has just a hint of smirk about it.

"Derrick Storm, Kit-Kat? Really?"

Heat pricks at her face, her back straightening immediately. There's a rush of something close to indignation in her chest but she softens it. "What's wrong with Derrick Storm?"

Esposito is still disbelieving, one eyebrow raised slightly. "You like crime novels?"

"Yeah, what's wrong with crime novels?" She is frowning at him now, one foot reaching out to nudge her bag and the book it cradles further below the table as though protecting it somehow.

He laughs and she tries not to let that grate. "Kate, you're a cop – a detective. Isn't reading Richard Castle kind of like taking a busman's holiday?"

"No," she says, a little indignantly, but then her tongue struggles to form more words. She looks down into the depths of her coffee and Esposito watches with interest as her shoulders seem to hunch a little, like her body is trying to curl in on itself to protect something vital at its centre.

After a moment, Kate looks up at him and breathes out, consciously relaxing her body from its instinctive posture. "It's just…um…" Her face reddens a little more, white teeth biting her lower lip for a moment. "His books are kind of important to me."

Esposito looks surprised. "Really? I gotta admit I had you pegged for more of a classic lit kinda girl."

"Oh I am, too, but…" She trails off, fingers twisting with each other awkwardly in her lap as she glances warily at him. She is suddenly very aware of her heart beating in her chest, weight pressing down on this little secret as though it doesn't want to be told. She's deliberating, wondering whether she can give him this part of herself too – peel this precious layer of herself back and let him see a little deeper beneath her skin that he already has.

"But?" he prompts.

"But…" She lets out a rush of air – breath she doesn't know she's been holding. "Richard Castle's books are special to me…They're a part of me."

She smiles just ever so slightly and Esposito sees her gaze wander into the distance a little. He knows it has to be the past that they've wandered to. It's always the past with her, memoirs and faded photographs etched on the insides of her skin. When she speaks, her voice is soft and reminiscent and he is reminded of how young she is, how torn up and scattered she is despite her age.

"I remember…it was about a week after my Mom's funeral and I was on the Subway…Someone had left a tattered copy of _In a Hail of Bullets_ on the seat next to me. I picked it up and…I was hooked." Kate looks up at him and there is a hint of sadness in her smile that wrenches on his heart. "I mean, I'm not claiming that his work is great literature. It isn't. But there's something in his plots that reels me in, that gives me hope, you know?"

"Hope?"

She shakes her head, knowing that what she's saying can't possibly make sense. He understands her better than anyone has in a long time, but she cannot expect him to understand this. She knows it comes across as a morbid fascination, a self-indulgence in the macabre. Maybe it is.

"His books… They give me hope that justice does exist. That maybe, just for now, I'm simply the unlucky one. That maybe, if I just keep going, I'll solve my Mom's case one day. His books showed me that even goodness can come out of evil and joy from sorrow. I remember picking up that novel on the Subway and missing my stop because I was so engrossed. Because since seeing my Mom in that alley, I hadn't felt at peace… But I felt peaceful reading his book, caring for his characters, wishing for them to receive the justice I didn't have. I still feel that now. Every Richard Castle book that comes out – I'm right there at the front of the queue to pick up my pre-order." She pauses just long enough to take a breath, to smile ever so slightly and meet Esposito's gaze to let him know it's okay – she's okay, she's not going to fall apart on him again, not here. "I know that all sounds stupid and maybe immature, I don't know. But his books help me."

Slowly, Esposito shakes his head. He reaches for her hand on the table, threading his fingers through hers and just for a moment, Kate doesn't think to worry about what that means or what the people around them might think. She just feels warm and safe. Understood.

"It's not stupid, Kit-Kat. Nothing that helps you is stupid, or immature," he tells her quietly. Then he grins. "And hey, now at least I know what to buy you for your birthday."

That makes her laugh, although there is a small snag in the back of her mind that registers the significance of his remark. Her birthday is months away yet. Will they still be holding hands on coffee tables in November? She shakes the question away, files it away in the dark spaces where she hides her other unwanted thoughts. For now she is content to sit, warm fingers slipped between hers.

Esposito can't help but smile at her and wonder if she even knows how incredible she is. He has learnt quickly to take the secrets she gives to him and treat them as the precious things they are, tiny layers of her skin that he has to allow her to take back if she wants them. But he is grateful. He is grateful to her for sharing her darkness with him, her secrets and her past. It makes him feel that his own is less of a burden, less of a weight to carry. She reminds him that he is not alone, that the world is messy and complicated and ugly but some things – some things are simple.

* * *

She cannot _believe _this is happening.

Kevin Ryan is young. New, and young, and partnered with Esposito and everything is just impossible. Their dynamic has been thrown off by this new detective, taking separate cars to scenes and her view of him from her desk is obscured by Ryan sitting at his own new one, placed opposite Esposito's. She tells herself it shouldn't matter; they were never really _partners, _not officially, she's on her way to lead detective and she doesn't like having a partner, having someone to rely on her in situations such as the ones they find themselves in – but nevertheless, he had been her pseudo-partner, an almost, a possibility.

He's a good detective, Ryan, good at his job, she'll admit to that. But throughout the first three days of his new position, he walks in when she finally has the chance to be alone with Esposito, he buys the team Chinese and eats it with them instead of it being simply her and Esposito alone playing footsie and stealing food in the break room. The case is running her dry and so she doesn't have time to talk to Esposito outside of the precinct about this new addition to the team, stares at his texts blearily in the half-light of 5am but can't find the energy within her to reply.

She doesn't quite know what she wants to say.

"Hey," she hears, startling out of her reverie to find Esposito leaning against the doorjamb of the break room as she nurses a cold cup of coffee at the table.

"Hey," she replies quietly, looking down at the brown liquid as he seats himself beside her.

"New kid's from narcotics, apparently. Don't see how he has the stomach for murder with a face like that," Esposito grumbles, flexing his muscles slightly and instead of laughter rising from within her it's bitter words.

"Just because you've been here longer, it doesn't mean you're better."

There's an aching silence once the words are tossed from her lips like discarded newspaper. He stares at her, nostrils flaring slightly as his eyes roam her face, and she simply tightens her jaw. Part of her guesses she should probably apologise, let this blow over and let them fall back into – into… Well, whatever it is they have. But most of her is just so tired and drained and she can_not _deal with this right now. This is exactly why she's not looking for a relationship. She's selfish – and she senses that on a deeper sense than they both realise what they're doing here is too – but she'll never apologise for that. It's who she is, and while it may not be beautiful nor kind nor anything near what she aspires to be, it's the only way to protect herself.

"Wow." He says after the silence, leaning back in his chair with wide eyes. "Wow, you're an ass when you're frustrated."

"I never said I wasn't."

She stands, dumps her coffee mug in the precinct sink and spins to glare at him as he glares back.

"You know, you can be an ass too. You're not even giving Ryan a chance."

"What the _hell, _Beckett? Give him a chance? The kid is green and in my way. You know it works better when it's just the two of us." He argues, rising from his chair.

"But it's _not _just the two of us, Esposito, and you need to accept that."

"Are you sure that you're the one to be dishing it out right now? You haven't exactly accepted the kid yourself."

She growls, low in her chest, pushing away from the sink to meet him eye-to-eye. There's a flare in his eyes, something dark, and she _hates _that, hates how he could possibly be feeling any trace of arousal right now when all she is right now is pissed off and tired and so completely confused.

"I'm not the one who seems so eager to prove himself. Shoving before Ryan when we're after a suspect, jumping down his throat before he can give us another lead, excluding him from discussion. What the hell is your problem, Espo?"

Esposito's shoulders drop, moving backwards slightly in defeat. Her chest heaves as she watches him and she still can't force the words out, an apology, because she knows she's being too harsh and he doesn't deserve this but damn it at the same time he _does. _He's not the only one who's been affected by the new addition to the team, and she wish he'd see that, instead of simply only seeing her when she shows her scars.

"This isn't really about the new kid, is it?" He asks quietly.

She closes her eyes and counts down from ten the way that her therapist had taught her, in the way that has never really worked, but she attempts countless times anyway. Because she needs to stop thinking, about how Ryan's affecting this, them, how it terrifies her because they're in so deep when it's not supposed to be a relationship, and here they are: In the middle of the break room yelling when anyone could walk in and see. And this is, what, a lover's spat?

"We're… We're hiding this thing, and it's hard, hiding it," she tells him honestly, "for me, at least. And you're – you're god damn jealous of another detective over what? Over what, Javi?"

"You're-" The word sounds strangled escaping his mouth, his eyebrows pulling into a frown. "Jeez, Kate, we're… You're-"

"Is it because it's been a week since we last slept together?" She spits bitterly, watching the anger flare in his eyes and feeling so damn angry because this is_not _a relationship, it's not, and he does not get to be jealous about her spending time with a new detective even if she is not the _slightest _bit interested in him, nor the other way round. "Is it because I've been too tired to deal with whatever this is? Or because this is a secret, and you wanna boast about how manly you are, wanna boast about how you managed to bed Kate Beckett, the ice queen, which I _know _they – "

His mouth covers her savagely then and her hands move upwards, curling sharply in his shirt and eliciting a painful hiss from him as she shoves him away, heart thumping wildly in her chest. Holy _crap._

"What," she heaves, "the _hell _is wrong with you?"

His fist lands solidly in the break room wall, not as hard of a punch she knows he can throw, but enough to make his knuckles bleed. She watches in barely disguised horror, anger shimmering through her veins when he turns back to her and oh God they are in _the precinct _and she needs to leave.

"You know what? I don't need this. It's 5:30, and I'm going home, and you – put some ice on that or something, I don't care. I'll see you tomorrow." She mutters disdainfully, pushing past him.

Guilt eats away at her heart, but she refuses to look back.

* * *

He's standing outside her door again, staring at the chipped wood polish and scratched up keyhole and wondering if it's always going to fall to his lot to apologise first.

She opens the door with fire in her eyes. Her hair is a mess, like she's run her hands through it too many times. He can tell she's been chewing on her lip again too because its red and swollen and oh he wants to kiss her. Kissing her, touching her, mapping her body with his hands as he aligns with her against the mattress is all so much easier than talking with her. The letters are shaken up inside both of them and they're still learning to use them properly.

"Espo, it's late. I was about to go to bed. What do you want?" She sounds tired and still angry with him but Esposito doesn't miss that she uses the abbreviation of his surname, the two syllables soft on her tongue.

He shrugs and tries for a smile. "They say you should never go to bed angry with each other."

Kate crosses her arms over her chest, still blocking the doorway. "We're not in a relationship, Esposito. That rule doesn't apply."

The reversion to his full name has his mood darkening again. He doesn't even understand what this is all about. Not completely.

"Kate, who are you trying to kid here? So you don't want to call this a relationship? Fine. You got no arguments from me. But admit it's something. It's enough of a something to have you getting het up over the arrival of some new guy who might get between us or figure us out. It's enough of a something for you to feel threatened." He levels his gaze with hers and she hates that he can do that - that he can look her straight in the eyes without flinching, without wanting to look away. He takes a step forward. She's not wearing her heels so she is forced to look up at him. "It's enough of a something to have you running scared, Kit-Kat."

"I'm not scared, I'm - " She bites back the rest of the sentence because it's a lie and they both know it. Of course she's scared. She's terrified. The last man to ever make her feel anything let her down beyond anything she had expected. He used her, used her vulnerability and her fears and gave her none of his own.

"Okay," she says quietly, stepping back to let him in after a long silence. "I'm scared. But don't pretend you're not too."

Kate closes the door, rounds on him like he's her interrogation victim, except she's the one with wide eyes and trembling nerves.

"I mean, what are we doing, Javi?" she asks, voice small and scared. She reminds him not for the first time of a child, yet her womanhood cannot be denied. Even scared and still angry and lost, she is striking.

"Does it matter? You're the one who didn't want to label things."

"Does it -" she gasps, glaring at him. "Does it matter? Of course it matters! What if we get found out? I can't afford for that to happen, I gotta - "

His mouth covers hers and swallows her words whole. This kiss is as savage as the one in the break room before, something furious and desperate in the movement of their lips. At first she struggles - he is unbelievable - but then his tongue probes her lower lip and she feels the adrenaline spark in her tired heart. She has forgotten this power of his to make her feel alive.

Kate kisses him back, allowing her frustration to fuel the embrace as she braces herself against his chest, moaning when his fingertips skirt beneath the hem of her blouse and she finds herself backed up against the bookcase. They lose themselves there and later there will be deep lines across her back where the shelves dug in and scratches in his shoulders where her nails clung to his skin.

At midnight Kate is gathered in his arms on the couch, crumpled blouse undone and bare legs entangled with his, the denim of his jeans rough against her skin.

"I'm sorry," she murmurs into the dark.

Esposito jerks out of his half-slumber. "What for?"

"For being an ass."

He slips a hand to her thigh. "We're both asses, Kit-Kat."

Murmuring in agreement, Kate drops her head back down onto his shoulder, eyes closing. "Maybe that's why this thing works…we're both kinda fucked up assholes."

He turns his head to accommodate her more comfortably, inhaling the cherry and cinnamon smell of her hair. He hums in what could be agreement or disagreement. "Maybe."

* * *

Sleeping round each others' apartments isn't unheard of, but after their fight it becomes a more frequent thing. He presses his thumb against the frown that settles on her forehead in her sleep, and she in turn presses open-mouthed kisses against his bare skin when he shudders amidst the swirl of nightmares. They give when the other isn't looking, and they never talk about it – They've never spoken about much since their fight, since Ryan. Instead for weeks they've been treading on ice.

She wakes up one Saturday morning to find Esposito awake already, staring at her softly. There are no words for the warmth in her chest for that; not because he makes her speechless, but because her mind feels guilty for the way her body reacts to him.

It's too much. Maybe they_ should_ talk about it.

"Morning," she croaks, reaching out to tangle her fingers with his.

He seems touched by the innocent gesture that leads to nothing more. It's not often that they exchange words in bed that aren't interrupted by angry kisses upon swollen, raw lips, or are simply a prelude to the former. That's what they both want though, and she knows this, and he knows this. Their bodies fit together, and their scars match, but in the end it's never going to be what it would if they were a little less broken, a little less scarred.

"Yo," he says gruffly, and she can't help the laughter spring free.

His lips quirk at that, and he's glad that if he can provide her with nothing else, he can provide her with laughter. And it's beautiful to watch, the way the happiness temporarily shrouds the sadness in her eyes. It may be a guise, and it may be fleeting, but it's enough.

Once the laughter fades from her system, her eyes turn to his and implore for answers that they both know he cannot give. He feels himself grow weary, lays down on his shoulder and faces her properly as words spill from her lips.

"Do you ever think about it? What this is?"

Her words are timid, small. It's strangely not her but at the same time – after all of this damage, after all of her scars – he's not surprised in the slightest.

"All the time," he tells her honestly, raw.

If she's surprised, she doesn't show it.

"I'm sorry, Javi. That I can't be… That I can't be more. That most days I don't – I don't really want to be, if it means giving up on my mom."

"Hey," he soothes her, staring down at their tangled hands. "Last time I checked, Kit-Kat, it wasn't just you holding back."

He doesn't look at her. He can't bring himself to. The words aren't a lie, they're the honest truth. She has her murdered mom, an alcoholic father and he has his own demons; the army, the PTSD, his dead partner. They're both too broken for people so young. And she is so beautiful, in small glimpses he often catches the young woman eager to face the world before her mom was taken from her in the bitterness of winter, that it breaks his heart. It breaks his heart, because they don't love each other, and they never will, and he doesn't need her. Not in the right way – they depend on one another to compare scars as though that makes them any less alone.

He looks up at her, catches her watching him as though she knows what he's thinking.

And she is so beautiful. She deserves so much more. Maybe they both do.

"You ever… Do you think that - ?" She cuts her own voice off with a sigh, pressing a palm against her lips.

"One day, Kit-Kat," he says, "you're gonna find someone. A real someone, I mean, someone you wanna spend the rest of your life with. I'm gonna find that someone too. Maybe we'll both still be broken when we get there, but…"

She pulls their tangled hands to her lips, kisses his knuckles the way she did on their first morning together, so many months ago.

"Maybe we'll both still be broken," she repeats him softly, "but somebody will show us how to be a little less ashamed."

The fingers at her lips unfurl to catch a curl of her hair. He threads it through his fingers, another part of her to cling to. "But for now…this is enough?"

She doesn't meet his gaze but she does smile. "This is enough," she says quietly. And it is.

* * *

**TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

**even our shadows flinch**

She doesn't want to need him like this.

She tries to stick to the usual routine she follows on her days off. Long soak in the tub, read a novel, watch some trashy TV whilst eating ice cream, call her Dad, order takeout for dinner, watch more trashy TV. But by the time lunchtime rolls around and she's tired of reality shows, Kate's mind has already wandered to Esposito, to how he might be spending his day off and to how they could spend it together. If he wants. If she wants.

Sure enough she ends up at his door, staring at the brushed wood and slightly askew number seventy-three that he keeps saying he's going to fix but never does. She hesitates a long time before knocking, because they only saw each other yesterday, only talked on the phone last night. If there's one thing that Kate hates, it's feeling vulnerable – open, like she needs somebody to lift the weight off her shoulders. She used to carry it around on her own just fine. She is terrified that this thing – whatever it is – is weakening her.

Nevertheless, she knocks.

He opens the door in sweatpants, a black t-shirt and bare feet. He looks surprised to see her, but pleasantly so.

"Hey, Kit-Kat."

Smiling just a little, she says, "Hey, Espo," and reaches to tuck a wave of hair behind her ear. She feels small in her leggings and flats and she can see the questions in his eyes as he looks at her: what is she doing here? They can usually bear to spend a couple of days out of touch. Isn't that how she likes this thing of theirs – casual, now and again, no strings attached?

"Um, I…" She clears her throat and brings her hands in front of her chest, toying with her nails as she looks up at him. "I wondered if you might wanna go out for a walk, maybe…grab something to eat? You know, if you want. If you're not busy."

Esposito looks at her for a moment, at her bare face scrubbed clean of makeup, at the leggings and sweater combination that make her look even younger than she already does. Not for the first time, he wishes he couldn't see the shadow of fear that is always in her eyes every time she comes to him, as though seeking out human comfort and companionship is a sign of some kind of weakness. He wishes she'd start taking all these things she thinks are weaknesses and turn them into strengths. She needs some fun, some light-hearted nothingness.

He leans back into his apartment for a second to look out of the window. It's overcast and grey outside, but not raining yet. He looks back at her. "Grim day for a walk, Kit-Kat. How are you at video games?"

Kate smiles a little wryly. She was the video game champion of her college halls, but she keeps that quiet. "I'm alright. But wouldn't you rather – "

"Nope." Esposito grins and takes her arm, tugging her inside his flat and pushing her toward the sofa. "Me. You. First to beat my current high score gets to choose dinner. And that, of course," he pauses to look at her appraisingly, "is going to be me."

Laughing, she drops down onto the sofa beside him and takes the controller tossed her way. This is going to be so much better than watching trashy television until midnight.

She whoops his ass. Bad.

Mainly because his high score isn't a patch on hers and partly because he keeps losing concentration to glance over at her. He knows he's ruining his chances of takeaway kebab for dinner but he can't help himself. The sight of Kate Beckett sitting cross-legged in leggings on his couch, torso leant forward excitedly as she grits her teeth and blows his little animated figures to smithereens, muttering curses under her breath every few minutes, isn't one he expects to see every day.

As she finishes off his main character and the screen flashes up their scores, declaring her the winner, Kate finally throws down her controller with a triumphant grin, and catches him looking at her.

"What?" she asks, wide smile still dazzling on her face. "Don't worry, I won't tell the guys at work that I just totally wiped the floor with you."

Esposito laughs. "Nah, it's not that." He checks himself. "Well, that too. Yeah. Don't do that." His face softens though and he smiles at her, affection muted in his eyes. When he next speaks, his words are gentler – more serious.

"You just keep on surprising me, Kit-Kat."

There's a lull of quiet in the room after that. Kate smiles at him and ducks her head, tucking her hair behind her ear again on one side. She knows he doesn't mean the game. He means her – exposing herself to him, in all her smallness, all her childlike indulgences and vulnerabilities. And she knows she will never be able to tell him how he makes her feel both small but not small at the same time, broken yet pieced together in the same instant. She hopes he knows anyway. She suspects that somewhere, he does.

"So, what are we getting for dinner then?" he asks, nudging her back to the present. "Victor's choice."

Looking up at him, Kate bites her lip, eyebrows creased slightly in deliberation. Then she draws closer to him, shifts to slide a leg over his as his arms wrap around her. She puts a hand at the side of his neck, fingertips just toying with the hollow behind his ear and the hair just above.

"Let's think about food later," she murmurs, and he recognises her next smile all too easily.

She kisses him, luring his lips down to hers as they stretch out more comfortably on the sofa, his body curling over hers as though protecting it from the grey clouds outside, the rain that threatens to invade their safe space. They allow themselves this – another night of play pretend, in which they make believe that this thing they have going is just like any other relationship, just as healthy and whole and easy as a million others. Her slim fingers inch his black t-shirt up over his ribs, his toy with the hem of her sweater and they both ignore the grey water lashing now on the window pane, drizzling down the glass and obscuring the city beyond.

* * *

An alley.

Crime scene tape.

Blood.

Brown hair.

Slumping figure.

Stab wounds.

They were called to the scene at 5am that morning. Kate had smiled at him when he'd lifted the crime scene tape for her. He'd watched as she'd absorbed the crime scene before her with steel in her eyes, ice in her heart. It had taken him a while to fit the puzzle pieces together, to connect it all back to her mother's murder, and by the time he had she'd already become so deeply involved that he didn't know how to confront her.

It's been 18 hours and they've exhausted two leads and he's standing outside her door.

Kate opens her door with files in her hands and fatigue written into the crevices of her mask. That mask has been building since he's met her, perhaps he's taught her how to hide her pain too easily. Perhaps he shouldn't have done that.

"Javi," she says in surprise, not letting him in. "What're you doin' here?"

"You need to sleep."

It's all he says before he pushes past into her apartment, finding files and photographs and empty takeout cartons littering her front room. Every inch of personal space has been consumed, eaten away by this – Her life. It's always this. Every day.

Sometimes it's easier to forget that she has to live with this.

"Like Hell you tell me when I need to sleep," Kate tells him lividly, shutting the door and following him into her front room.

"Somebody's gotta look out for you, Kit-Kat," he tells her, like it's as simple as that.

"I don't need looking out for."

"Oh yeah? Is that why I'm the only one?"

The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them, before he can fully comprehend their meaning. It's true – he's the only one. He thinks he may be the only one who's been there for her for years, and her loneliness frightens him, even as she stares at him with a clenched jaw and defiant eyes. She shouldn't have to be alone.

"Get out," she says icily. "Get the Hell out of my apartment, Esposito. Who do you think you are?"

"I don't know, Kate. I don't know what I am, what we are – I don't care," he tells her, stepping closer. "Kate, I don't care about the mess we are. As your _friend,_your colleague, as a good person… Kate, get some rest. Sleep. Relax. Take some time off. You shouldn't have to work this case."

Kate shakes her head at him in disbelief, shoving past him viciously and he catches her wrist to pull her to him, their bodies aligning even as she glares.

"Stop."

"No."

He tugs on her lower lip between his teeth, feels rather than hears her growl as she pinches his arms so hard it's a surprise she doesn't draw blood. Their teeth clash together and it's savage, and the next thing he knows they're stumbling, heat coursing through him and it's making him forget what he'd come here to say in the first place.

He pulls away when her back hits the wall and she grunts in mild pain, and every part of him aches as she glares at him with swollen lips and mussed hair because she's so _angry _and they're both so broken and inside he can still see the terrified nineteen year old girl she pretends not to be.

"No. No, we're not going to forget this with sex," he says, pushing away from her. "You've got to stop."

She stares at him with arousal hooded eyes, reaching for him and trying to curl her body around him like she always does. "Javi, please."

Her lips barely brush his when he pushes her away again, this time with a little more force and she stumbles over documents forming a second carpet over the floor.

"Fuck you," she spits out. "Get out."

"Stop this."

"You _don't _get to tell me what to do – "

"Who else is gonna? You've pushed everyone out!" He cries. "Do you even want your life, Kate? Or do you want this?" He gestures to the files that consume her. "You want this every day for as long as you live?"

Kate clenches her jaw, stares up at him with no regret lacing in her eyes. "That doesn't make me a bad person."

"No, but it makes you a bad decision maker. Shit, Kate, you need help – "

"_You're _my help, Javi."

"Not that kind of help," he tells her, watching anger flare in her eyes. "Professional help. You need to let this go, Kate."

"Are you – Is this about my mother?"

"When isn't it?"

There's a long stretch of silence as Kate absorbs his words before she looks around the mess of her apartment. She stares at the files, the photographs, all of the macabre of murder for a long, long time, until her eyes are watering and she's curling in on herself rather than him, eyes lifting back up to us. One lone tear escapes and in that moment he considers pulling her closer, freeing her of her clothes and fixing it with their bodies as they always do. He knows how to do that.

"How am I supposed to let go?"

He doesn't know. He doesn't know and it terrifies him to the core.

"Javi, _how _am I supposed to let go?"

"I don't know, Kate. I don't know."

"You must do," she says in a shaky voice, trembling fingers wrapping around her own elbows. "You have to."

"I'm not you. I've never – This isn't…"

Her eyes are wide and terrified as she studies him and he's looking back at her in the same way. And she realises – he was never who she'd thought he was. He's still the man who makes her laugh. But she'd thought, or maybe she'd just pretended, that their unforgiving sufferings made them the same. His mask that she had so adored, the tortured pain that lurked in the taut bow of his spine, they'd made her think he'd had all the answers. He should have all the answers.

Why doesn't he have the answers?

"But you, with your dead partner," she says, wetting her lips. "You've been through something like this before you, Javi. You've got to know how I can let this go."

Esposito stares at her and she's crumbling inside, organs falling into shutdown as hope seems to sink further and further away until it recedes completely and she is left alone in the infinite darkness.

"You've got to know…"

Esposito sighs, rubbing a hand across his eyes.

"I don't know you, Kate," he says. "I know you're a damn good detective. I know you read Richard Castle's books. I know your body. But I don't know_you. _How am I supposed to tell you how to let go?"

"Please, Javi," she whimpers, and she is breaking his heart. "Please tell me."

He sighs, wrapping his hands around her elbows as she crosses her arms across her chest.

"You shouldn't have to need me."

"I don't want to need you," she whispers, voice cracking. "That's not right. That's not love."

He presses his forehead against hers, not daring to wipe her tears away, feeling his own eyes burn.

"It was never love, Kate. It was just – It was unhealthy."

"No, it was more," she insists, hands against his chest. "We're more."

"No," he sighs. "No, Kate, we're both just broken."

She pulls away, staring up at him with heartbreak in her eyes.

"But we said it was enough. We were supposed to be enough."

He shakes his head, cupping the back of her neck and he's not enough. He's never been enough. So he reaches down and kisses her lips softly because this is all he can do. This is all he can give her.

She breaks away with a hitch in her breath. "You were supposed to have the answers. You and everything that you've been through… You were supposed to have the answers."

"You have to find them yourself, Kate. I don't… I have nothing. You don't need me."

"I don't," she admits, and then she kisses him again.

Her kisses are sweet even as her mind is blazing with anger, and he's too caught up in her to notice, until she pulls away. Then he sees the anger in her eyes.

"You were supposed to be my help, Javi. You told me you'd help me."

There are no answers, and so he pulls from her arms, from the sweet torture of her.

It was never supposed to hurt this much.

"I should go."

He turns away, his entire body aching as he prepares to leave her chasing ghosts.

"You're wrong," she says. "Javi, you're wrong. We're more than broken. We're more."

But he's already gone, and as always, she is alone.

* * *

She feels everything and nothing all at once. For a long time after the door closes, the long shadow lengthening as the hallway light fades, Kate stands there with her arms wrapped around her torso, a crumbling tower built on sodden foundations from the start. It shouldn't be like this. They shouldn't have fights like _this_. They are more. He was meant to fix her. She was meant to fix him. They were going to repaint all of their broken puzzle pieces and fit them together so that between the two of them they'd create a new picture.

She slumps to the floor. He's right. That isn't love. It's dependence and it's false and it's unhealthy. But when she is curled around herself in the dark, Kate trembles to think of the alternative. Esposito came into her life like a bolt of lightning; he made her laugh. She doesn't know how not to be on fire. And all she can cling to for hours as the night gains momentum is her desperate preconceptions: they were supposed to be more.

The alphabet is all jumbled up inside her, letters scattered beneath her skin so she can't fathom what they might read. There are hot tears on her cheeks for a long time because she is realising now that Javi's fingertips will never and could never rearrange her words into sentences. She has to do that for herself, somehow. He's right.

He's right.

It thuds in her like a stone dropped in a well. And once dropped, it echoes through the hollows of her bones, the dark spaces in her lungs. He's right. He's right. He's right.

Trembling still, Kate sniffs and brings her hands up to wipe away her tears in the defiant way she always has done. It takes a while for her to get back to her feet – even longer for her to gather her jacket, her shoes. She lingers at her door for a long time, keys cold in her hand. But no. He's right. And she has to stop leaving it to him to apologise every time.

* * *

She feels the dull thuds of her knuckles against wood through to the pit of her stomach and when the door is opened, neither of them smile.

It might just be the shadows on his face but Esposito's expression looks hesitant – flickering, neither dark nor light. Kate meets his gaze with open, serious eyes. He opens his mouth to speak, but she gets there first.

"I'm sorry."

Once those two words are out, she can't stop. Her eyes are remorseful and dark and inexpressibly sad as she spills out her soul to him there in his building hallway, spills out the parts of herself she has been pretending aren't there, the dark, tumultuous truths that neither of them have been facing. She seeks beneath her skin and manages, just, to rearrange the words for herself.

"I'm so sorry, Javi. I'm sorry for making up this…this _fantasy_ of who you were supposed to be and who I was supposed to be, and how we were going to be… I'm sorry for being angry at you for not conforming to that. I had no right. I had no right to dictate this whole thing, whatever it is, to you and I realised… You're right. I do need to drag myself out from my Mom's murder. I do need to learn how to want my life and how to make it mine and not my Mom's murderer's. And this…us… this isn't good. I – "

Shoulders slumping in defeat, she takes a breath finally and for a moment it looks like she's just floundering, searching for the rest of her sentence and wishing the silence would say it for her. Her eyes soften and her whole body seems to follow suit, the tautness of her spine slackening a little, her legs holding her up less stiffly.

"I love you, Javi, but not… I'm not _in_ love with you. I love you like a friend, maybe one of the best friends I ever had…and maybe as friends we made some mistakes and confused some lines and used each other for the wrong things, but… What I'm trying to say, very badly is…that you're right. We don't work like this and maybe…If you'd like…I understand if you don't want to, I mean, history and everything, not to mention I've been an utter bitch, but… If you're good and we're good…Maybe we can be friends again?" She tries for a smile – it quivers on her lips a little, but stays. "I can have your back, and you can have mine, as friends. We can go back to laughing in the break room over coffee and you can save my ass on take-downs when I take stupid risks and we can…_support_ each other, rather than taking turns trying to carry each other – "

Her words are swallowed this time not by his lips but by his arms. He envelops her close to his chest, strong arms wrapping all the way around her, and the embrace is warm. It feels warmer and more like home than his bed ever did – there is no guilt, no desperation, none of the self-seeking need that always fuelled the fire of their kisses. This is simple and right.

"You're not a bitch, Kit-Kat," he murmurs and she squeezes him tighter. "I love you too, as a friend. I think we just got stuck."

Kate whispers back her thank you against his shoulder, and although half of it is lost in his shirt, he hears her all the same.

Esposito lets her slip out of the hug a few moments later, but his hands still stay on her arms, warm and comforting. She feels as small and breakable as she did on their first night, but there is something innocent between them now, something new and homely humming in the space between their bodies and he feels no desire to consume it.

"Kate?"

Her actual name makes her look up – she meets his gaze, dark now with sincere warmth. "Mhm?"

"Earlier, you asked me how you were supposed to let go, and I didn't have an answer. I still don't. But… I think one day you're gonna meet someone, Kit-Kat, and that someone is going to have the answers I don't. They're gonna know everything I don't and be able to help you without taking anything from you in return like I did. That's who you're looking for, Kate. And I hope you find him. I really do."

Kate kisses him then, on the cheek, her lips pressing innocently to the soft skin close to his jaw. "Thank you, Javi," she whispers, pulling him into a hug again. "For everything. For more than everything."

"Anytime, Kit-Kat. Anytime."

* * *

They're wrapped up in each other, two oblivious in-love souls who've nothing but eyes for one another, the white of her dress swishing around her feet as they slowly twirl their way around the dance floor, all smiles and bumping teeth when they kiss. Happy. The kind of light in her eyes that he'd always ached to see.

Soon, her father cuts in and she's all teary eyes and laughter as she towers over him in her heels. He watches from the side-lines as her groom, Castle, graciously backs away and dances with his daughter, until slowly more and more people are filtering onto the dance floor, and after dancing like a clumsy five year old in comparison to Lanie's professional moves, there's Kate – beautiful, enigmatic Katherine Castle – grabbing his hand and laughing as he trips.

She's gorgeous. Yes, the dress is beautiful, and her hair makes her seem like some ethereal creature, but it's the smile on her face, the light in her eyes, the way she shines. It's wonderful to see, makes emotion clog in his throat that he'll never admit to. Because this – all of this – it's what she deserves, what she always had, what he could never give to her, what she could never give to him. They had their moments of happiness, yes, but those were rooted in friendship, not in the times their bodies met. But with Castle –

He shows her how to live her life without carrying the chains of her mother's murder, shows her how to undo them link by link and in return she teaches him responsibility and how to hold more substance than just a millionaire playboy.

It's the kind of thing he thought only existed in movies.

Kate laughs, charming and pleasant, and nods over to where Lanie is twirling a stumbling Castle around the floor. "I knew I should've bought him lessons."

He grins, swaying gently to Kate's timing. Funny how these women around him lead the men.

"Lanie loves it. It was hard to convince her not to bring some of her old dance outfits along."

Kate smiles widely, laughter soft in her chest, before sighing quietly.

He studies her, and yes, she's happy, but she's tired around the edges and her eyes keep flicking back to Castle, and he knows that look – knows from years of friendship that all these hours of dancing and drinking have taken their toll. And the words are tumbling out of his mouth before he can stop them, maybe because of the soft ambiance around them or the light in her eyes or how he's not going to see her again for a month while she's on honeymoon. It could be any one of these combinations, he doesn't know.

"I'm glad you found him, Kit-Kat," he says, seeing the way her eyes flick back to his, wide and surprised at the nickname he hasn't used in years. "You deserve him."

Kate hums lightly, biting her bottom lip as they sway. "Yeah," she murmurs, eyes shy but light, "I'm glad I found him too, Javi."

Esposito nods, and they slowly move their way around the dance floor again, passing Jenny and Ryan whose daughter is bouncing along beside them.

"You wanna tell me when I can expect a baby Castle-Beckett so I can win the pool against Ryan?"

Kate laughs, hard, and the music is beginning to change so they're stopping, hands falling from each other but she's still smiling up at him from beneath her hair, and that's enough.

"Give me time to recover from the honeymoon first, huh?"

"Oh – Ew – " He says, frowning. "Didn't need to know that."

Kate rolls her eyes, but says nothing more.

"I don't need to ask, but – You happy, Kate?"

She grins. "I don't even need to answer that, do I?"

There are so many words he could say, but this is enough. They're friends – good friends – and she's happy and that's all he'd wanted for her, just as she'd wanted for him when she'd sidled up to him years ago and murmured _you know, Lanie thinks you're pretty hot._

"May I?"

They turn, and Castle's waiting beside them, smiling briefly at Esposito but he only has eyes for Kate. She smiles – that smile he only sees when Castle's around – and takes her husband's hand, stepping into his side and pressing a kiss to the bottom of his jaw. Castle smiles, buries his nose in her soft hair as Kate turns back to him.

"Go dance with your fiancée, Espo, before she kills everyone on the floor with her moves."

He nods. "As you wish."

But he stays, only for a moment, once again on the side-lines as he watches the new Mrs Castle twirling with her husband on the floor, the sun in her eyes, shining brilliantly.

He is irrevocably changed by Kate Beckett – who wouldn't be? – but Kate Castle. Ah, Kate Castle. This is the woman he could never help her be, the woman who loves unashamedly and laughs as though there's no such thing as pain or sadness or tears, and walks into the precinct with all the power in the world.

So he stands on the side-lines for a moment more and makes a toast, alone. For their past, for her future, and for Castle – the man who kept turning up.

* * *

**The End**

* * *

**Eleantris: **It was such an honour to work with Ellie - for a long time I've thought of her as one of the best writers in the Castle fandom so to write with her was just incredible and thank you so much for reading our little foray into Kate and Espo's possible backstory.

**closingdoors: **Ignore all of the above. Out of the two of us, Eleanor is an infinitely better writer, and has made me cry a crazy amount of times over this fic and these two characters. Writing with her was a pure dream – an early Christmas present – for me. I hope you've all enjoyed this fic as much as we have writing it. Thank you, as always, for keeping open minds and leaving wonderful comments. Until next time, folks.


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